Glyphira and Darnell: After the Dozen
by Celtic Amazon
Summary: Takes place after "The Dirty Half Dozen" What happened to Glyphira and Darnell after parting ways with Xena? I own nothing and make NO money from this...please don't sue me! *bats eyelashes* -PRETTY MUCH ON PERMA-HIATUS


"Aaargh!"

Glyphira rolled her eyes and continued applying pressure to the new bandages, "Don't be such a baby."

"Hey, don't get me wrong," Darnell winced, "It's not that I don't go for the rough stuff...I just thought we'd make up the safety word first," he smirked.

That earned him an extra jab of Glyphira's thumbs in his wounded calf.

"Arrgh! Gods woman..."

It was her turn to smirk, as she rose and rinsed her hands with the waterskin, before tossing it to him. He caught it, and shook his head, watching her stir the dying fire. It was a torment, an absolute torment watching her, just out of reach. Those calves, those thighs, that beautiful, perfectly formed-

"Darnell!"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his fantasies in time to find Glyphira glaring down at him expectantly.

"I asked whether you were planning on heading toward Athens tomorrow."

"Athens." His expression fell unusually serious, "No, I was thinking I'd just go around Athens, and go North through the villages."

Glyphira crouched beside him, picking up her sleeping pallet and brushing grass from it, "Go around Athens? Biggest trading centre, biggest city for leagues,

and you're 'going around it'? You do something stupid there? Owe someone money?" she baited.

"Well you know, Sweet Cheeks," he leaned in, laying a daring hand along her thigh, "Not everyone falls for my obvious charms the way you have."

"Hard to imagine," her voice dripped with sarcasm as she moved to swat his hand away.

But before she could brush him off, he grasped her hand in a firm but gentle grip. Raising her fingers to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss into her palm, his eyes catching and holding hers for a breathless second, before she twsited out of his grasp and rose brusquely.

"Come on babe," he called after her, "You can't tell me you weren't just dying to get me alone after that little inferno at Agathon's castle. I saw the way you were looking at me after that thing went up in flames."

"How's that?" she muttered, her back to him, "Something like digust?"

Darnell found the makeshift crutch and heaved himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the piece of wood, "I'd say it was more like irresistable attraction...mixed with unquenchable desire..." he hobbled closer to her, "...with a dash of burning lust."

"You don't give up do you?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he got the chance, found himself pushed roughly against a tree trunk, her lips pressed to his, her hands groping for his belt buckle. For the first time in a fortnight, Darnell felt his luck begining to change. She worked the clasp open, before gliding her hands up under his shirt, and along his chest. He pulled away slightly, to trail kisses along her neck up to her earlobe, whispering seductively as he nibbled. And that's when things took a distinct turn for the worst. The next thing he felt was a blinding impact, as she cracked his head against the treet trunk behind him.

"What in Tartarus did you just say to me?!"

"I uh..." He shook his head to clear his vision, hand travelling up to rub at the emerging goose egg.

"No never mind!" Glyphira snapped angrily, "Don't repeat it. Gods, you men are all the same...you just pull out the same lines you've used on every village girl, since you were old enough to tell a convincing lie."

"Men? We men are all the same? What about you women!?!?" he growled, as his vision swam, "You lead a man on until he thinks he's going to explode, then you act like we've offended your "maidenly honour" or something."

"'Maidenly honour???' Oh give me a break! We women give you a chance that we're already certain you're going to screw up. but we give it to you anyways, and what do you do? You just go and prove us right!"

"Well what in Tartarus are we supposed to do, when you already think we're out to screw you over before we even open our mouths!?!?"

Glyphira glowered dangerously, as she straightened her top, "You stay on your side of the fire and I stay on mine, Any body parts come too close and I cut them off."

She stormed off out of the clearing, leaving Darnell to nurse his head and his pride. Luck was a whore anyway; she never stayed with one man long, he reasoned, lowering himself to the ground. The overcast sky blotted out a good deal of the halfmoon's light, and nothing much beyond the small circle of the low burning fire could be seen. He couldn't hear Glyphira moving, out there between the trees, and he couldn't imagine how that seductive harpy could see so well in the dark. At any rate, best to let her cool off for the time being. Women could be hysterical like that: calm and reasonable as any man one moment, then like bloodthirsty Furies the next.

The sound of snapping twigs made his head shoot up from his chest. He couldn't tell how long he'd been asleep, but he could now hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Glyphira. He sighed, preparing himself for part two of her tirade against the male species. But there was more than one pair of feet on the march towards him. As they were getting closer, he could now pick out a good dozen men headed his way. _Gods Damn it. _He felt for his javelin in the now nearly extinct firelight, completing a complicated balancing act, as he maneuvered to his feet with both javelin and crutch. He cast about warily in his dark surroundings, debating whether to try for an escape through the cover of the trees, or to stay with what light and certain ground he had, and be able to see his attackers fully when they came for him. He chose to stand his ground in the end, doubtful of his abillity to move silently through a tangle of undergrowth, in pitch black, with a bum leg. Where in Tartarus was that woman?! She'd picked a perfect time to disappear. The footfalls stopped a couple dozen feet outside the small clearing, and Darnell felt his stomach twist as they appeared to stop and muster for a charge. He dropped the crutch and leaned back on his good leg for support, javelin at the ready. Suddenly, he felt a sharp stab in the side of his neck, just under his earlobe. His hand flew instinctively to that spot, where he found a tiny green feathered dart. As he yanked it free, he heard the charge called, and dropping the offending object, readied his javelin again. Everything seemed to slow suddenly, as if the battle was taking place on the bottom of a deep river. He could barely keep his feet for some strange invisible current trying to knock him off balance, and blurring his vision. And when the first blunt club cracked him accross the ribs. A sense of vague concern that two broken ribs didn't paritcularly seem to hurt, traversed his slipping mind, before he passed out completely.


End file.
